


Powerplay

by TheCursedChild



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Demon Dean, Dubious Consent, Episode: s10e03 Soul Survivor, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Sam Winchester on Demon Blood, Sibling Incest, Top Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 12:09:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8143492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCursedChild/pseuds/TheCursedChild
Summary: Dean has escaped his cage and is on his way to kill Sam. Sam, meanwhile, needs to recapture his demonic brother. It doesn't quite turn out as they expect.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I have no idea what I was thinking while writing this...

They find each other in the northern part of the bunker. The hallway is a bleak concrete grey and illuminated badly, shadows dancing across the walls as they size each other up.

Dean has the hammer wrapped loosely in his grip, a relaxed smirk on his face as he looks at his little brother. Sam’s arm is still in a cast. He doesn’t stand a chance against the older and stronger man. In this scenario, he is little better than the prey to the demon’s predator.

His older brother knows this, and takes his time. He stalks Sammy through the corridor, his pupils enlarging as he gets high on the chase. Sam might not exactly be afraid – he’s never been afraid of Dean, demon or no – but he keeps backing away. Now that he has found his escapee brother, he doesn’t know what to do with him. He has the cuffs to bind Dean, but no way to get them on his wrists.

Dean, with no morals, zero attachment to his little brother, is going to kill him. He won’t stop or hesitate until Sam is dead. It is his only way to feel pleasure, to feel anything at all. Sam knows better than anyone what that’s like; Dean’s corrupted soul is very much alike to Sam himself when his soul was stuck in the cage.

The demon approaches his victim while rolling up his sleeves. Sam stops backing away and stands his ground. They stand chest to chest, breathing the same air, experiencing the same smells.

It is that closeness which changes the game. Perhaps not the same closeness they shared as brothers, although not as different as others would like to assume.

Dean raises his empty hand to cup his brother’s cheek, looks into his eyes, and smiles. It is fake, an imitation of the love the old him would have shown to Sammy. But the fakeness of the smile goes forgotten in the same moment.

Sam looks high on adrenaline, his nostrils flaring, identifying a scent that he cannot forget or refuse no matter how often it comes across his path.

Dean can’t help but notice the look on his brother’s face, the way his eyes move briefly to follow the smell of intoxicating blood to the crook of Dean’s arm. The wood of the door he crashed through must have cut him somehow, and though the wound has healed, the blood has dried on his skin.

His smile is genuine this time.

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” he says, overjoyed that he now has a new and exciting game to play. The hammer drops to the ground. It lands with a loud bang, but neither of them bother to acknowledge it.

After all these years they can still read each other scarily well. Sam knows what his brother is planning and moves to flee, only to be held in place by the strong grip on his jaw. “Please, Dean. Don’t do it.” He raises his hand in defense, trying to push Dean away.

Dean won’t have it. He grabs the arm Sam holds up and twists it behind his back. He hooks Sam’s leg with his own, effortlessly holding him in place. “Don’t do this to me, Dean. I know you’re still in there somewhere. Kill me if you have to, but I never want this again. Not this.”

The demon rests his chin on Sam’s shoulder and whispers in his ear. “Oh Sammy, you don’t have a choice. And I really can’t let a golden opportunity like this go.”

With that, Dean raises his left wrist to his mouth and bites down hard enough to draw blood. He digs his teeth deeper into his own skin, not even feeling the pain when he is used to so much more.

Red drops drip down his arm, and he reaches around Sam to place the scent directly in front of his brother’s mouth. He can feel Sammy tremble against him, straining with the effort of resisting. Dean tightens his grip on his brother’s waist, lightly pressing his bloody wrist against Sam’s lips.

Unbelievably, Sam keeps his mouth shut, stops breathing in a doomed-to-fail attempt to keep himself from giving in to his own addiction.

For a strange second, the demon feels a strange sensation. Pride. Pride for the little brother who somehow keeps resisting the most potent and rich blood he could ever feed his addiction with. The blood of a Knight of Hell, the blood of his own brother.

He shakes the weird feeling off before it can take hold. Instead, he reaches up and grazes his teeth along Sammy’s earlobe. “Stop fighting it, Sammy. I know how much you want it. You must want to know how my blood tastes. I promise it will feel so good for you, Sammy. Let me make you feel good.”

Sam doesn’t give in even then. He keeps fighting, even as the first drops slip past the barrier he has formed with his lips. He tries not to smell or taste or feel the effect of highly potent demonic blood, mixed with the faint scent of Dean; leather and gunpowder.

Dean is patient. He knows that Sam will give in eventually. However, persuading Sam into surrendering quicker would give him a far better high. Inspiration strikes him, so he presses his lips against Sam’s neck for a quick peck and starts talking again. “It’s okay, Sammy. I want you to do this. I won’t be mad. I won’t judge you. I don’t want you to stop this time. Take as much from me as you need, Sammy. And when you have what you need, take as much as you _want_.”

The encouragement –the permission- works like a charm. Sam open his mouth and digs his teeth into the fading marks Dean put there himself. Dean groans at the sensation his little brother ignites within him.

His grip on Sam’s waist loosens. There is no reason to hold him now, he’s staying where he should be all on his own. It gives his free hand room to roam. He doesn’t stray far though, his destination long since decided.

Sam, meanwhile, untangles his arm from his sling and grips Dean’s wrist with both hands, drawing him closer, not even trying to push him away once he figures out what his brother is planning next.

Dean tugs Sam’s shirt from his jeans and trails his fingers across the waistband before slipping in. One-handed he undoes the button to give him more room to maneuver. He reaches further down to palm the hardness he knew he would find. Sam’s Pavlovian response.

His little brother bucks against his hand, seeking friction. Dean pulls him close, his own hardness pressing against Sam’s ass. The demon groans against his brother’s neck and proceeds to attack it with reckless abandon; nibbling, sucking and biting more or less gently across the patch of skin.

Sam thrusts into his hand shamelessly. He becomes less occupied with Dean’s almost healed and clean wrist as his attention gravitates to his arousal.

Dean is just loving this. His little brother greedily thrusting into his hand, completely at his mercy, going against any morals he’s ever bothered to teach himself because he can’t tell wrong from right when he’s high.

That’s when Sam stops his intake of blood and does something completely unexpected.

He _smiles_.

Dean suddenly realizes he has it all wrong. Sam is not at his mercy at all. Dean isn’t the one in control. From the moment he first offered his blood to Sammy, he let his little brother turn the tables.

Right now Dean is practically anemic, his arm is trapped in an iron grip, and the blood Sam took from him should have made him strong enough to lead an army of demons as he is destined to do.

Power explodes from Sam’s body, a force strong enough to bring Dean to his knees if Sam didn’t have a hold of his arm. With that grip, Sam wrenches Dean’s arm behind his back and shoves him face-first into the concrete wall.

He hears Sam’s familiar chuckle behind him, and can’t believe he’s been fooled by his floppy haired baby brother. He is never going to live this one down.

“Is this what you planned, Dean? Wanted me on my hands and knees? Fuck me while I’m high and wanting?” Dean can still hear that damned smile in the words. That kid needs to learn a lesson in respect.

He struggles against Sam’s chest, trying to push away from the wall with his barely human strength. Without any effort at all, Sammy keeps him pinned, grinning against the skin of his neck. Dean feels himself drowning in a cloud of power, all the fire leaving him. Instead, pleasure start shooting up his spine. He’s breathing harshly, blood rushing south, and all that’s left is the sensation on and beneath his skin and Sam’s whispers in his ear.

“That wasn’t ever going happen, Dean-o. You see; I like fucking someone much more than being fucked. And you, oh you just love to submit. You prefer to let your girls ride you, do all the work while you lie back and look pretty.” Sam’s hands glide along Dean’s sides, fingers catching on his nipples, every gasp rewarded with a nibble on skin.

“And you are so very pretty, Dean.” Sam undoes the button on his brother’s jeans and pulls them down to find Dean had gone commando as Sam knew he would. He caresses the newly exposed skin, spreads the cheeks as his brother braces against the wall, trying to stay upright with all his strength.

“But I wonder,” he trails off. It’s a show, he knows the answer to every question he’s going to ask. He knows his brother too well to get it wrong. “Do you like it rough?” he says as he presses his hardness against Dean’s exposed hole, nudging the opening and enjoying the delicious whine Dean makes.

“I know Dean never did, he is so very vanilla. But you’re not entirely him, are you? You’ve learned to like power and pain and how good it feels sometimes to hurt.” He emphasizes the last word with a thrust. Then he moves his fingers to Dean’s mouth and pushes past his lips.

“Get them nice and wet, Dean, it’s the only lube you’re gonna get.” He feels the vibration of Dean’s moan around his fingers and has to take a little room to slow himself down after imagining those lips around his cock. Dean whines at the loss of warmth at his back but goes back to sucking Sam’s fingers with the kind of vigor that only comes from self-preservation.

He withdraws his fingers from his brother’s mouth and lowers his hand to circle the demon’s hole. Without much patience he pushes in with the first finger. Dean groans at the sensation and doesn’t wait with asking for more.

Sam obliges happily and adds another finger, scissoring without giving Dean any time to adjust. They have both spent unbearably long in hell, this little pain means nothing. It’s like their brains are wired to read the signals as pleasure. Like their bodies have adjusted to save them from the endless pain their lives invite.

Even though two fingers is little prep for Sam’s size and the lube is just as lacking, they are both impatient and inhuman enough to want to move on. Sam pulls at Dean’s shoulder to turn him around and then lifts him up against the wall. He suddenly realizes that neither of them have actually shed any clothes and moves to rid his brother of his shirt.

Dean feels slightly feverish as Sam pins him against the wall with just his hips and proceeds to get him shirtless. Without any further ceremony Sam lines up his cock with Dean’s hole and presses in.

And in, and in. God, Dean feels so stretched and filled and damn it all to hell it burns like a motherfucker. He grabs his brother’s shoulders as Sam bottoms out and fucking stops.

“Why the hell are you not moving right now?” Dean grits through his teeth. Sure it hurts, but that hardly means he wants it to stop.

Sam hums, looking not at Dean but down their connected bodies. His hands are all over Dean. One on his ass and the other tangling in short blond hair, pulling harshly to shut his brother up.

He laps at the skin in front of him; throat, collarbones, every inch that he can reach he marks up.

“I’m not fragile, Sammy. Move!” Dean orders. Surprisingly, he actually accomplishes what he set out to do, though the journey is not quite what he imagined.

Sam pushes them both away from the wall and quite literally throws Dean to the floor. He crashes into concrete though when his head bounces it causes no damage at all.

He watches appreciatively as Sam takes the time to strip out of the rest of his clothes in a hurried fashion. He considers attacking for a moment, but as soon as he moves Sammy looks up and magically all his muscles stop co-operating.

Sam strips away Dean’s jeans completely and hovers above his older brother with decided smugness. He thrusts back in and lifts Dean’s legs over his shoulders. Next, he places his hands beside the demon’s head and practically folds Dean double as he fucks him hard and fast and completely merciless.

Dean wraps his arms around Sam and digs his nails into the skin of his brother’s back in an attempt to hold on and give Sam back some of the pain.

His cock is getting delicious friction from the slipping and sliding of their bodies. He is so close with the overstimulation of touch and power that he has no problem letting go.

He comes all over their stomachs with a breathy groan and soon after Sam stills inside him and collapses on top of him.

Dean is enjoying the afterglow of having mind-blowing sex with his brother when he realizes Sam’s arm is moving. He looks up to hear the unmistakable sound of handcuffs closing and feels the cold metal of the demon cuffs against his wrists.

With inhuman strength he switches their positions and sits up on Sam’s hips, his hands cuffed in front of him. He studies the symbols on it for a moment before turning his attention back to Sam.

“Oh Sammy. Was this really your plan? Fucking me into submission before chaining me and turning me back to human?” He laughs, wild and carefree and hauntingly echoing in the concrete hallway.

“You’re forgetting something, baby brother,” Dean taunts him, his hand caressing his brother’s cheek. “You drank my blood. There is no way you are pure enough now to turn me and get Dean back.”

Sam stares up at him defiantly, his position on the bottom symbolic but also false with the power thrumming in his veins. “I will kick it and get you back. I have to.”

“You will try,” Dean concedes, “But you will fail.” The demon leans in closer, pressing the whole of his bare body against his brother’s.

“I promise you, Sammy,” he whispers, completely sincere; “You can put me in these cuffs, lock me up, use everything in your arsenal. You can go to your room and try to stay away from my blood, the best you’ve ever had within reach. But I will escape, I will find you.”

Dean leans back, throws his head back in a moan. “The things I will do to you when you are so desperate to get what only I can give you. You will be begging for it. I know you will. But I won’t give you it right away. I’ll want you on your knees, your mouth around my cock. You will do everything I tell you to, and you won’t stand a chance. And just when you are almost clean of my blood, in the moment you kick the habit and realize what you have done and what you are doing, I will give you my blood freely. And in your weakest moment you will succumb and take it.”

“You can take it and turn it all around and fuck me again, make me submit. But know this Sammy. It doesn’t matter who fucks whom. You are mine, you can’t live without me, and you are powerless when I’m around _and_ when I’m not.”

Dean leans in and kisses Sam softly, a mockery in every way imaginable.

“I win.”

And buck naked, Dean stands up and walks back to his cage, whistling something that might have been ‘eye of the tiger.’


End file.
